


Cavity

by urcool91



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Horror, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry, Light Angst, M/M, This was supposed to be for Halloween, weird au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urcool91/pseuds/urcool91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's heart can not be burned out of him. After all, it lies outside of him, in a fireproof safe behind John's armchair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cavity

Moriarty obviously was not a genius- or at least wasn't so much as he thought he was- for he wasn't able to see the secret Sherlock kept, the secret that still beat in the fireproof safe behind John's armchair. When he had first made the threat Sherlock had been afraid for a moment- just a moment, mind you- but that fear was soon laid to rest. Moriarty did not know.

Sherlock knew that he had a heart. It wasn't inside him, it didn't push the blood through his veins.  Any need for such petty things had left him long ago. His body was just a transport, dead in every sense of the word, but so ling as his heart and brain functioned he would be able to move and think. His brain was where it had always been; he needed it for his Work. His heart, on the other hand, was an overly fragile distraction,  so one day he had simply cut open his chest and plucked it out whole. 

Before John, Sherlock had rarely thought of the organ. The safe was locked, impenetrable. As far as he was concerned there was no way to destroy him through that avenue. It was his great brain that was his main concern,  that he protected beyond all else. It was his life and his livelihood. Hearts were overrated anyways.

When had John broken into the safe? He hadn't,  he couldn't have, but Sherlock could think of no other explanation. Because this was After John,  after the soldier had somehow slipped into the airtight container, and now the organ, his heart, was forever in his mind. For the first time the cavity in his cheat felt empty and lacking. At least once a week he would open the safe and sit cross-legged, watching and feeling his heart pulse in his hands. Over time the organ began to change.

In the safe his heart had become withered and brown with dried blood. It hadn't been pretty, but it beat, and that was all it was good for. Now the ugliness began to flake from it,  revealing soft red muscle underneath. This triggered the emotion that Sherlock used to call fear. The flaking made as much sense as a snail abandoning its protective shell. He would shut it away frantically, hoping the lack of oxygen would turn it back to what it had been. When he next opened the safe dry flakes were blown across the carpet. In their place was a soft, crimson, voluptuous heart. Sherlock reached down to touch the scar on his breast, I by for hia hand to come away red.

The blood never came out of his shirt, and the wound never stopped bleeding. Sherlock had to settle with stitching it up and sticking bandages on it. That was when John began to notice. At first it was just suspicious looks and pointed questions about the number of plasters in the bin, but Sherlock knew that hand-waves and two word answers would only stave off John so long. But Sherlock didn't guess just how the whole issue would careen into a metaphorical brick wall, the worst form of conclusion.

Sherlock should have realized what the endless bandages, soaked in blood, would have looked like to the doctor. But no, the thought never entered his mind, his useless mind, so he was surprised when John grasped his wrists and forced the sleeves of his dressing gown back to the elbows. He was even more surprised when the doctor nearly collapsed in relief and threw his arms around the heartless detective.

Sherlock was unsure how to respond to the contact, the caring, the emotion that seemed to be the core of John's being though he couldn't imagine not keeping it locked away in a box. He wrapped his own arms hesitantly around his John,  feeling the warm heartbeat against his own empty chest, and for the first time considered the possibility of re-embracing his long absent organ.

It was not to be. The next day, John went out to get the milk. Ten minutes later Sherlock's text alert went off and he raced after his friend. Three minutes after that the heart in the safe stopped its beating.


End file.
